


I Hate the Architect

by clararegenerated (writersinthevoid)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Gallifrey, Loss of Control, Love Triangles, M/M, Parallel Universes, Past Relationship(s), Post-Episode: 2014 Xmas Last Christmas, Steven Moffat Era, Suicidal Thoughts, The Doctor Hates Himself, Transporter Malfunction, Unhealthy Relationships, dark!Clara, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writersinthevoid/pseuds/clararegenerated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Clara have always been fragile, but they decide to try again after some interference from Santa. It doesn't, however, take much time before things explode again. After they do, Clara accidentally plugs herself into the TARDIS telepathic interface and declares that she wishes the Twelfth Doctor had never regenerated. Lo and behold, the TARDIS lands Twelve and his impossible girl in a parallel universe where Eleven has not regenerated, due to never having saved Gallifrey. His Impossible Girl is missing, though — and he thinks Clara is her. Clara doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't even argue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 09/02/16

"Just...don't even argue." That had been what he'd said, and she hadn't. All of time and space, a madman in a box and his impossible girl. How could she have said no? Danny was dead, and a job teaching English at Coal Hill School hardly matched up to traveling through time and space with the Doctor. It seemed like fate just wanted them to be together.

Clara skimmed her hand over the surface of the TARDIS control, and it made a friendly beep. Even the machine looked like it agreed with her fate, which was a rarity.

"She likes you now, eh?" The Doctor smiled down at her.

“I guess so,” Clara smiled a little bit. The ship had taken a while to warm up to her, and had gone back to being tempermental a few months back. It seemed to have finally decided it liked her, though — as had its occupant.

The Doctor watched her, a similarly confusing expression his face. If Clara could match it to anything, it would have been the one he’d had on the Orient Express, spending time with her for the last time. But this wasn’t the last time — right?

“So…” He started to say something, and she cut him off. She couldn’t handle any more intensity tonight. She’d used to think it was just their adventures that were intense, with a childlike madman underneath. Since she’d gone into his time stream, however, she’d learned that the man underneath was much more complicated than that — and he’d actually shown her that in his new regeneration.

“I’m going up to my room. See you tomorrow,” She forced a smile, not wanting to get into a serious conversation tonight.

"Goodnight, Clara," the Doctor called after her as she climbed the stairs, voice slightly strained. They both knew that whatever they had was fragile. It was time to stop pretending.

But not tonight.


	2. normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the most beautiful garden in all of time and space.

The next morning, Clara stumbles down from her room with blurry morning vision, still half delirious from the whole experience with the dream crabs and flying on Santa’s sleigh. She doesn’t even consider that she’s not dressed yet, and she realizes that might be a mistake when the Doctor looks at her in surprise. She hasn’t let her guard down so much since before he regenerated. But she remembers how he’d leaned into her touch the previous night and held her hand, and how on the second day of his regeneration he’d told her that she should never change and he was happy playing her games. He’s besotted, that’s the problem. The part that makes it a problem she can’t fix is that she is too.  
He doesn’t say anything about how she’s in her nightgown with unbrushed hair. Good decision. “Clara,” he says softly.  
“Where are we off too?” She leans against the wall of the TARDIS.  
“You know what, I don’t know. Do you have any desires? About where to go, I mean,” He mumbles the last bit, embarrassed by his phrasing. She’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be if it was firmly established that he wasn’t her boyfriend.  
She always has ideas. She doesn’t want to voice them right now, though. For once, she wants to let life happen to her.  
“Where do you want to go?” she asks.  
“I...I suppose I had an idea,” He stutters, looking away from her and towards the controls of the TARDIS. “Why don’t you go get dressed and then we can go.”  
She nods and goes back to her room. Things definitely aren’t the same. Before, it wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary for her to brush her hair and for them to just float in the time vortex for a little while, in the TARDIS’ library or something.   
She dresses and puts on her makeup, and when she comes back down to the control room he looks more confident.   
“I have a destination in mind,” he says.  
“Do I get to know anything more than that?” she asks, laughing.  
“You’ll know it when you see it,” he replies.  
His comment is a little strange, but nothing out of the ordinary. Everything’s strange when you’re travelling with the Doctor.  
The TARDIS lands, and he walks towards the door, then steps out. Light comes in through the door, so bright that Clara can hardly tell what’s outside. Something that’s actually out of the ordinary happens — he reaches for her hand.  
She hesitates for a second before taking it, assuming it’s for a reason. He holds her hand tighter than he did last night, and she steps into a towering field of tall grass.  
“Safe?” he asks, looking down at her feet, which the grass is clinging to. Maybe it’s not grass — it’s too soft and wispy to be traditional Earth grass.  
“Yeah. I’m good,” Clara says, and he drops her hand. She looks towards (one of the?) suns, hoping she can hide her blush. It’s the Doctor. Nothing has ever happened. Why should today be any different?  
“Welcome to the most beautiful garden in all of time and space,” the Doctor says, smiling. “You’re currently standing in a patch of Lenesian grass. That’s not what the natives call it, but I forgot how to pronounce the actual name.”  
Clara smiles at his vulnerability and looks around at the seemingly endless expanse of grass and flowers climbing up tree-like organisms. Birds chirp overhead, and small furry creatures scurry in the grass.   
“What natives?” She laughs. The small creatures don’t exactly look like they can talk.  
“Well, natives of this galaxy. I forgot to mention that not many people think it’s the most beautiful garden in all of time and space, seeing as not many people know about it. I know it is, though.”  
She leans against his shoulder, something about the grass against her ankles and the way he held her hand while they were exiting the TARDIS making her forget all the boundaries she usually puts up. “I love it. Thank you,”  
He blushes. “I’m glad. Glad...glad you can see that it is the most beautiful garden in all of time and space, that is.”  
She knows that’s not what he’s glad about, and she realizes belatedly that she shouldn’t have used the word love. She decides she doesn’t care, though. He’s the only one she’s ever been able to relinquish control around, and that has to be a good thing, right? Everyone’s always fired insults at her: control freak, bossy, princess. Sure, the Doctor has laughingly acknowledged that those are her traits, but there’s a difference between an insult and saying that, then saying that he doesn’t mind.  
“Want to see something else?” the Doctor asks, looking over at her.   
“Sure,” Clara feels a certain way about this trip, like if they didn’t say everything right, everything could go wrong very quickly. But she pushes it aside and walks with him in the tall grass. He supposedly has to keep his hand on her back to keep her from falling. That doesn’t seem entirely accurate, but she lets it happen anyway.  
“This is the tallest tree here. The tallest growth because it’s not technically a tree, but tallest tree sounds a lot nicer than tallest growth, doesn’t it?” the Doctor asks, laughing.  
“Oh, definitely,” Clara laughs and looks up at the tree, taking in the beauty of it all. The “tree” definitely looks like a tree, but it has harder, smooth wood, with lots of holes inside it that little animals have buried themselves inside of. The canopy of the tree has flowers twisted throughout the branches, blooming.   
“Isn’t it beautiful?” the Doctor asks, looking at her.  
Clara nods, not saying a word. She doesn’t know what to say. That’s a first.  
Nothing’s going to happen, she keeps telling herself, leaning against the bark of the tree. It actually is hard to stand all by herself in this tall grass and soft ground. When the Doctor puts an arm around her again and looks down at her, it feels almost normal.  
It even feels normal when he leans in and kisses her.


End file.
